


Who are you?

by genop0ke



Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-12 05:13:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7921846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genop0ke/pseuds/genop0ke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Employees in Aperture go through various struggles as the company goes through a financial crisis.</p><p>This is canon divergent. It will not be 100% compliant to canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tiger Lilies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life of an overworked Aperture employee.

“Welcome, gentlemen, to Aperture Science. Astronauts, war heroes, Olympians - you’re here because we want the best, and you are it. So. Who is ready to make some science?”

That same deep, peppy voice calls over the facility’s intercom system. Every day, every morning, at the same exact time, one of many routines, a reminder of what once was. Sure, the wording is technically a lie, but wording it otherwise has been proven to demoralize everyone involved.

All employees are weary, working nearly until their bones show through their skin, dealing with multiple positions in the facility at once due to financial struggles. One in particular sits collapsed, reclined in a stiff chair with a hand propping up his face. His pale, strawberry blond hair sits in a mess, sloppily tied back into a small ponytail. A streak of pale white runs through the forelocks of his bangs, one of a few traits from having partial albinism, like his paler skin and icy blue eyes. A few orange, flowery tattoos are revealed on an arm where the sleeve is rolled up.

He hums quietly, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head. A white lab coat is lazily slung over his shoulders, covering part of a partially unzipped, brown and orange maintenance jumpsuit. He pushes up a pair of rectangular glasses and unscrews the top of a plastic water bottle, pouring a small portion of the clear liquid into a small pot containing a fiery orange flower. A tiger lily. Not the best accommodations for such a pretty blossom, but perhaps it’s some kind of metaphor for his own state.

Similarly to many other employees at Aperture Science, the poor guy is stuck in two positions - in this case, maintenance work and test chamber design. He’s assigned to a group containing two others, close friends of his, that cooperate to design and create areas for test subjects to successfully interact with inventions, like gels, or cubes.

“Maybe I should just quit,” he muses to himself in his native tongue, too tired to think about wording anything in English, “go back to the florist. Or the mechanic. Either works.” Every day he considers the same option, quitting his job and going back to an easier life, but a good amount of important reasons keep him bound to the job. Money. Friends. Success. Innovation. Love-- the last point, not, not as important as the others, but still important to him. In a way. Not that it has anything to do with his job, no!

As his pale gaze shifts to a slightly larger container with a few succulents growing inside, a loud knocking on the door of his little office jolts him back to reality.

“Hey, Virg!” The owner of that smooth, lovely voice steps through the door, giving a friendly wave to the shorter, foreign employee. He swivels his chair to face away, covering his face with a faint squeak. Ah, his face feels really warm. Maybe he’s just nervous about working today. Or getting a fever. Nothing to worry about, no!

He stumbles over his words for a few moments, trying to piece together a sentence. “I-I-- hello, Ruben, I wasn’t… expecting you to come in here. What’s the occasion?” He turns back around, standing up and zipping up the front of his clothes.

The taller man, Ruben, having a head of slightly spiked and short chestnut hair, some of which dusting his chin, tilts his head some and cocks a brow. His soft green eyes are filled with confusion. “...er, what? What was that?” He chuckles awkwardly and rests a hand on the other man’s shoulder, causing him to heat up once again. Lordy, he’s very-- nice. Yes. Nice.

“...sorry, I’m-- I guess I’m, ah… very tired. Really tired. Forgot English for a moment. I was… asking what the occasion was, you usually don’t go out of your way, ah, to-- to visit… yeah, that.”

“...you seem nervous, Virgil. It’s not like it’s your first day doing something.”

“No, no, I’m fine!” Virgil holds his hands out in front of himself with a shaky grin, awkwardly chortling. He glances around, fiddling with his hands, gesturing at nothing in particular. “I… I…. I should be getting to work soon, and-and so should you, so, ah… bye, I guess?”

Ruben shrugs, turning to walk back out of the room. “Alright. Good talk.” He smiles over his shoulder and closes the door as he leaves. Virgil collapses back into his chair and buries his warm face in his hands, squeaking quietly.

With a heavy sigh, he drips some of his water into a palm and rubs his face, hoping the cool moisture will help expel the heat from his cheeks. He takes an extra drink and stands up, hesitating for a single moment before grabbing the door to his office, opening it.

Virgil makes his way down the halls, looking around and taking everything in as he goes. Muted, earthy colors, bright, white lights. An occasional peek through a pane of glass to see people at work. Another wave of new subjects trickle on past him, entering though large doors. Somehow Mr. Johnson managed to catch a few recognizable, talented people despite having a shaky budget. Virgil swears he recognizes one of the women in the group from team USA, a track runner. Interesting. They're starting "relaxation chamber" testing today, right? 

He trudges down a few sets of stairs and goes into a rickety, metal elevator, standing alongside two other co-workers he hasn't yet bothered to remember the name of. After a few minutes of watching floors go by, he steps out, briskly pacing down a hallway and searching the walls. A large L and M are painted on the door to a room full of a few bits of large technology, and lots and lots of paperwork being sorted by two others. One spindly, tall man, a hand dragging through a curly head of ginger hair. He pushes up some glasses over his freckled face, giving off an exasperated sigh. The other is shorter, though still taller than Virgil, having a bulky build and dyed hair. A pair of paint-splattered goggles dangle around his neck, over his even messier attire. His color of choice for his hair this week seems to be a vibrant orange, clashing with his brownish stubble and eyebrows. 

"About time you got here, we've hit a dead end for this one,"

"A dead end? For designing a test?"

"We messed up a part of the design and have to start over. We're trying to incorporate those new gels," the more slender of the two explains, gesturing at his messy comrade, "Nigel over here thought it'd be a good idea to get hands-on with the volatile experimental liquids." His cockney English accent adds a unique aspect to his whole personality, similar to Virgil's Scandinavian -- Norwegian, specifically. 

Nigel scoffs, grabbing a damp rag and rubbing his face with it. A noticeable layer of grime and colored staining comes off onto the cloth. "At least we know Mr. Johnson's claims that it hates the human skeleton aren't true. I'm still alive, aren't I, Wheats?" He stands up and nudges past Virgil, holding the door open for a moment as Virgil questions him.

"Where are you going?"

"I need a soda."

"You realize the stuff Aperture makes is more acidic than normal cola, right?"

"Don't care, they make the best orange-flavored shit around." Nigel walks out, leaving Virgil and "Wheats" alone. 

"Wheats" sighs, shaking his head slowly and sketching on some graphing paper. "I still have no idea how we can fix this-- it's only a minor error, but Mr. Johnson's been really finicky when it comes to who stays and who goes, lately." 

Virgil sits down next to him, looking over the paper. "I had to do maintenance work yesterday, sorry. I could help with fixing this, though, right? Looks like just an issue of a few feet off-trajectory for a chute..." He mumbles, taking the paper into his own hands and adjusting some of the pencil work. "...something feels off, today, don't you think?"

"I'm sure it's fine. Though, apparently Mr. Johnson's really under the weather... I heard that computer download thing'll happen with his lady, instead. That assistant, Caroline? They got married. Had a kid, a few years back."

"Really? Had no idea." 

"Yep. Who knew?" He chuckles, sitting back. "You look real nice today." 

"I dress like this every day, I look like a college kid that never sleeps, Oliver-- Wheats, I mean, I'm not mad, that just slipped out." Virgil retorts, raising a brow at the other.

"Yeah? You look nice, nonetheless. It's-- it's a compliment, Virg. You don't have to apologize, I don't mind you using my real name. Even when you actually are mad at me." He jolts a bit, startled by Nigel bursting in with a can of orange-flavored soda from one of the vending machines, taking a large sip from it. "Y-- you could have been gentler with the door, you know that, right, Nigel?"

Nigel apathetically shrugs and sits down, about to speak, but Cave Johnson's voice on the intercom cuts him off. It sounds urgent. Very, very urgent. Something is wrong, isn't it?

"A-- Attention, all employees, please report to-- just come here, it's urgent. You're all fired if you don't come. Cave Johnson, we're done h--" The mic cuts out into static. What the hell is going on?

The air looks and feels kind of foggy. "We-- we should go. Now. Hurry." Oliver stands up and gestures at the other, immediately set into a bit of a panic by the urgency of the apparent situation. His breathing deepens, causing him to cough after a bit. "...something's in the air, I think..."

Virgil follows soon after, with Nigel not far behind.

What the hell is going on?

Is everything okay?

"...let's go."


	2. Relax

With a panicky, brisk pace, the trio of young men move down the hall. The air is thick; it's hard to breathe. Decorations adorn some parts of the walls, making it apparent that the timing of this implied disaster is highly unfortunate. Take your daughter to work day.

“Hope the kids are alright.” Oliver huffs, barely keeping up. After a minute or so of searching, they find the room they had been summoned to, spotting at least twenty others. Of course, Aperture has a lot of employees, even in its time of financial failure. All the employees wear a variety of colors, picking their own style to go with the usual Alice blue lab coat and logo-emblazoned necktie.

Virgil falters upon spotting one of the taller, male workers, chatting nervously with some others while managing to keep up his subtly flirtatious attitude. Ruben Bowen. Rubbing his face and looking away to his other two friends, Virgil takes a few deep breaths. “...so, what's going on?”

“...what the hell are you saying?” Nigel bluntly states, his comment making Virgil realize he had slipped into a flustered mixture of Danish and Norwegian once again.

“Sorry-- what's going on?”

“No idea- stay alert, Mr. Johnson is coming in.” Oliver taps the other two's shoulders, signaling them to be quiet and listen.

The aging, withering man looks around at his employees with a stern look, frowning as a majority still are anxiously murmuring to others. He shoves a couple fingers in his mouth and whistles, grabbing everyone's attention in seconds. Before speaking, he coughs hard into a clenched fist. “Listen-- or, or you're all fired. There's something… very bad, happening, involving a test going awry. You're all going to have to go into some newer relaxation chambers we were about to roll out into testing.”

“Are you shitting me, Cave?!” A short, bulky woman with messy black hair snaps, her hands balled at her sides and her shoulders raised. Her color of choice appears to be red. Fitting.

“Language, Becky, this is a workplace, not your home,” cautions a taller woman with a soft voice and long hair, fidgeting with a lavender tie.

Cave gestures at a door going deeper into the set of rooms everyone is corralled into, hacking once more into a hand. He sounds miserable. “We… can't lose all our employees. Already lost that Manner guy to a personality dump test.”

“Sir,” Virgil begins, turning to look at Cave with a suspicious look on his face. Something is up. “Where is Caroline?”

“Get in the damn chambers. The facility is filling with toxic gas and we have no idea how to fix it. You'll all be let out when it's resolved.”

Realizing they can't reason with Cave Johnson, as usual, employees begrudgingly climb into the prototype chambers one by one. One of the employees completely refuses, bolting out into the poisoned halls. Doug, was it? Weird guy.

Virgil, Nigel, and Oliver stand by the chambers they're supposed to get into. “This won't be too long, right?”

“I'm sure.”

“if I never see you guys again,” Oliver muses, laying back in the chamber and getting comfortable, “I love you, Virg.” The door mechanism closes before anyone can react.

“...what?!” Virgil falls back into his own, shocked and confused. Saying you love your friends isn't exactly commonplace, not yet.  
Nigel shrugs and climbs into his chamber. Whatever.

Virgil squirms, unable to just.. relax. It's getting difficult to think. Is this thing full of chloroform? Probably not, but that's how it feels.

It won't be too long, he keeps assuring himself.

Oh, how wrong that is.

* * *

Virgil slowly opens his eyes. He's no longer in the chamber. He feels completely alone. His mind feels foggy, as if he's so intoxicated his memory is failing him. A feeling of emptiness claws at his chest.

But… his mind is clear. No intrusive thoughts caused by anxiety. No worries about the state of his plants.

….His plants.

Has he checked on those, yet?

Judging by his surroundings, he's still in the same facility, though a bit more sleek with lots of white. He shrugs and tries to find some kind of elevator, maybe he just needs to go down a level to go to the offices?

After some moments of wandering, he finds am elevator. It looks almost futuristic, he notes. Virgil steps inside. As the doors close, an artificial, monotonous, feminine voice asks where he is going.

“The offices? Virgil Hansen, one of the Lima Whiskey designers- wait, can you even understand me? Or get what I'm saying? You sound like a recording…am I talking to a-"

“Settle down. I'll reroute the elevator.”

“....neat.” He looks around. That's odd, despite there being just one white light illuminating the interior of the elevator, a yellow-orange glow comes from inside, reflecting on the walls.

A few minutes pass. A deep, echoing beep kind of noise rings out as the doors open with a mechanical whir.

The halls leading up to his office are somewhat deteriorated, what normally comes from years of water damage and mold staining the walls. Some leaves poke through cracks.

How… how long was he asleep?

He finds his office and opens the door, the sight before him rousing a faint gasp from him. With him not there to monitor it, his tiger lily plant is extremely overgrown, stems and leaves sprawling across the small room, even growing into the computer he had.

Orange blossoms sit pretty on green growth, managing to thrive on water leaking from the ceiling and light flickering from above.

“...herregud.”

How long has it BEEN?!


End file.
